


Bram vs. The Superhero Identity

by spider_lily



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Epistolary, M/M, Pining, Shy Bram, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spider_lily/pseuds/spider_lily
Summary: Bram took a shaky breath, hesitated for half a second, and then started typing:People are like vast houses with tiny windows. From the outside, you can only get an incomplete picture about just who someone is because there are all these secrets and hidden things that no one else knows about until you decide to share them. No one knows I'm gay, but if I ever want to find a shore worth swimming to, eventually I'm going to have to open my doors and let someone in.Three sentences. Four lines. Bram had written the post in such a rush that he cringed a little just thinking about it, but also . . . he couldn't really think of a better way to say what he wanted to say. At least, not right now. With one last deep breath, Bram made sure he checked the "ask anonymously" box, and then clicked "submit."Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda, from Bram's perspective.





	1. Conundrums & Creeksecrets

Bram Greenfeld had a conundrum.

The conundrum had started today during lunch. Well, okay, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, it had started during his freshman year of high school. That was the year Bram and his mom had moved from Savannah to Atlanta. That was also the year he had his first major growth spurt.

And it was the year he met Simon Spier.

It's embarrassing, but Bram can still remember the moment he first saw Simon with distinct clarity. Bram had been so nervous his first day at Creekwood High School that he sat in the third row of his advisory class instead of the first row like he would have at his old school. He had been anxiously tapping his pencil on the desk next to his brand new composition notebook when a slightly douchey looking white guy threw himself into the seat next to Bram.

"Sup, man, I'm Garrett."

"Bram."

"Cool. Do you play soccer at all? I hear tryouts are this week."

And thus a friendship had been born. Bram had only had his sexual identity crisis last year, and he still consciously got nervous around cute guys, and Garrett was cute, albeit in a tall, skinny, pimply, white boy kind of way. He was the kind of boy that made Bram feel nauseated--confident and approachable and comfortable in his own skin. But ninth grade Bram could recognize all the typical hallmarks of a straight boy, and Garrett was undeniably straight. Plus, it was really easy to kill the crush before it could even begin when Garrett segued from talking about soccer tryouts to talking about Harper Madison's tits, which had apparently "pulled a Grinch" and grown three sizes that summer.

Garrett and Bram shared most of their morning classes together, which was convenient because Bram, at this point, felt like if he even tried to open his mouth today at all, vomit would just pour out instead of words. So he just followed Garrett around to all the classes that they shared, and then continued to follow him when they started toward the cafeteria for B lunch.

"Dude, is it cool if we sit with my friend Nick? He's gonna tryout for the soccer team too, and he's got friends who are into other stuff too. You'll like them."

Bram shrugged, gathering his food, paying, and following Garrett to a table in the middle of the cafeteria.

That's when he first saw Simon Spier.

Garrett had slammed his tray down across the table from the dark-skinned guy who was apparently Nick, since they were once again discussing soccer tryouts. Bram set his tray down next to Garrett's, but also at the edge of the table (for a quick escape, if necessary).

Bram had sat down, and was fiddling with his apple and sandwich when the sound of raucous laughter arose from the people around him. He quickly looked up, eyes darting around to see what was so funny, and then--and he's not exaggerating--he felt the breath leave his body.

Directly across the table, the most beautiful boy he had ever seen was smiling, clearly pleased with something. Around him, Nick, another girl who Bram would later learn was called Leah, and Garrett were all wheezing with laughter. Clearly, this boy had been responsible for the mirth.

He was literally, and figuratively, breathtaking.

He was white (as was much of the population at Creekwood High School, Bram had noticed earlier), with messy blond hair, gray eyes, and glasses that were not round but still somehow reminded Bram of Harry Potter. Just a little bit. He was currently smirking, one corner of his mouth tilting up, and Bram noticed that he had a dimple on the right side. And god, those cheekbones. And… Bram squinted a little, unconsciously trying to look closer. Did he have freckles? Oh lord, he had freckles. Just a few, scattered around the bridge of a long, straight nose.

Bram must have made some noise, or something, because Simon turned to look at him, confused in a very endearing sort of way.

Bram could actually feel the blood rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment, and he took a quick moment to thank whatever deity he could for his dark skin tone, which was a blessing in that it often hid the most obvious signs of his embarrassment from other people. Bram gave Simon an awkward smile and looked back down, but not before he noticed Simon smiling back, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle a little bit in the corners. It was adorable.

That was the moment that Abraham Louis Greenfeld developed a crush on Simon Spier. No amount of Bram telling himself that Simon was probably, with 95% certainty, straight, could prevent the fact that Bram was totally gone on this boy. And it only got worse from there.

As freshman year continued, and Bram started to make more friends--mostly with guys who also made it on the soccer team (including Garrett and Nick) or the basketball team--he continued to sit at Simon's lunch table most days, but he never actually worked up the nerve to say anything in front of Simon. It was totally embarrassing. He should be able to say something, at least--anything. But any time he tried to say something either to Simon or even around Simon, Bram could feel his throat closing up around the words.

Simon hadn't triggered his sexual identity crisis--his step-mother's cousin had been responsible for that the year before--but he was also the first person that Bram, for whatever reason, could truly see himself being with. Simon was kind, and funny, and smart, and everything that Bram wished he could be around other people. And he was probably, with 95% certainty, straight.

Which brought Bram to his current conundrum.

His junior year at Creekwood High School had started today, and after a summer of not having to see Simon every single day, or think about him every single day, it was shocking to be fully immersed in seeing this boy again. And Bram would have to see him every day, excluding some weekends, until next May. See him, and stare at him in the most unobtrusive way possible, and sit in classes with him, and watch him laugh at lunch . . . All without saying a damn word. Because over two years after first meeting Simon, Bram still could not bring himself to speak in his presence. It was frustrating, and agonizing, and every other synonym for frustrating and agonizing that there could possibly be.

Bram had to talk to someone. He wanted to shout his thoughts and his fears from the rooftops, but he still couldn't work up the nerve to tell anyone, not even his parents, that he was gay. He hadn't even told Garrett, although if Garrett were a little bit less oblivious, he probably would have noticed by now that Bram never really commented during conversations about Mila Odom or Allie Price or Leah Burke.

Bram sighed. The school day had ended almost an hour ago, and Bram had gotten home about 30 minutes ago to a note from his mom that she would be working late again today, and that he could order delivery or go pick up food if he wanted, with $20 attached.

The problem with long drives home and an empty house was that it gave him too much time to think. It gave him too much time to think about Simon, and about coming out, and about basically all the things he was struggling with that were somehow easier to worry about than the four AP classes he was enrolled in this year.

Sitting at home, in the giant house where only he and his mom lived, and eating Chinese takeout, Bram was suddenly struck by the thought that people were a lot like houses. People were vast houses with tiny windows, and from another's perspective, it was so easy to have only one or two ideas about who a person was, even someone you've known for years, and to build up your whole idea about who a person is based on those things that you can see. But there's so much going on behind the windows, in the hidden places, that no one knows until you let them in and let them see all of you.

Bram grabbed his laptop. He was struck by this sudden, impulsive need that he couldn't describe. But he had to tell someone--anyone. And the creeksecrets Tumblr page was about as anonymous as you could be while still putting your message out there, in words, for the world to see.

No one really knew who ran the creeksecrets Tumblr, but legend has it that it was someone who graduated years ago who still posts people's anonymous asks because whoever it is has nothing better to do with their life. Regardless, it was the perfect outlet for Bram's problems.

Bram took a shaky breath, hesitated for half a second, and then started typing:

_ People are like vast houses with tiny windows. From the outside, you can only get an incomplete picture about just who someone is because there are all these secrets and hidden things that no one else knows about until you decide to share them. No one knows I'm gay, but if I ever want to find a shore worth swimming to, eventually I'm going to have to open my doors and let someone in. _

Three sentences. Four lines. Bram had written the post in such a rush that he cringed a little just thinking about it, but also . . . he couldn't really think of a better way to say what he wanted to say. At least, not right now. With one last deep breath, Bram made sure he checked the "ask anonymously" box, and then clicked "submit."

He could already feel himself start to breathe easier, even if only a little.


	2. Posts & Peers

When Bram woke up the next morning, there was a moment of sweet bliss that he had not felt in a long time. And then he remembered the creeksecrets post from last night. He froze. He could feel anxiety encroaching, but he mostly felt relief. That was a good sign. He had come out for the first time, even if it was anonymous.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell his parents. And then maybe Garrett…

His anonymous ask had probably been posted already, but Bram was too nervous to check. Instead, he took meticulous care with his morning routine: taking a needlessly long shower, styling his hair, choosing an outfit. By the time his mom called him down for breakfast, he was on his laptop doing everything  _ but _ checking the creeksecrets Tumblr.

Downstairs, his mom was scrambling some eggs in a frying pan. Stacks of bacon were already laid out neatly on the table. Angie Carter Greenfeld worked at the Center for Disease Control as an epidemiologist in their infectious diseases department; basically, her job was to study preventable diseases and how they spread. She worked long hours in a laboratory with other scientists, but she insisted that she always have breakfast with her son, even if she couldn't guarantee dinner.

"How was school yesterday, baby?" she asked as she slid the scrambled eggs onto two plates.

Bram shrugged noncommittally, sitting down at the table with one of the plates of eggs and grabbing a few slices of bacon. He took a bite to avoid answering for a little longer, but he knew she wouldn't settle for nothing.

"It was alright. Mr. Morrison has already assigned a huge project for AP Bio that's going to take a few weeks, so I've started working on it. And we've started reading  _ The Great Gatsby _ in AP Lit. It's really good so far, even if it  _ is  _ written by a white guy."

His mom smiled, but then she started to look worried. "Are you sure you're going to be able to handle four AP classes this year, Bram baby?"

"I have to work hard if I want to get early admission to Columbia, mama."

"I know, but I want you to have room for a social life, too. Friends, parties, homecoming, and your junior prom is this year. Maybe you could even get a girlfriend? As long as it doesn't interfere with your school, of course."

Bram felt his face fall a little bit. Yeah, a girlfriend. Except he's gay. Gay.  _ Gaaaaaaaaay _ .

"Yeah, mama, I know. I'll schedule in time for fun, I promise."

His mom laughed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Bram baby."

Bram grinned back. "Yeah, I know."

They finished their breakfasts in silence, and his mom looked at the clock on the stovetop. 7:55.

"Alright, hun, you had better be going or you'll be late for school. I'll probably be late again tonight, but I'll leave money for you."

"Thanks, mama. Have a good day."

"You too, baby."

\-----

It was a Friday, so Bram kind of drifted through the day doing the bare minimum. He took notes, and paid attention, and participated in class as much as he could while also stressing out internally about the fact that he had outed himself on the internet yesterday.

He had finally caved after his mom left this morning and checked the creeksecrets Tumblr. The ask had been posted at 11:58 PM, and there was no going back. Yes, it had been anonymous, so Bram knew that no one in real life actually knew that he was gay, but it was a step in the right direction. And it was terrifying. Last night, all Bram had been able to think about was that he needed to shout into a void, and the creeksecrets Tumblr was definitely a void, but in hindsight, Bram realized it was a void that consisted  _ entirely of people that actually went to this school _ . Any one of his 2,000 classmates at Creekwood High School could have seen that post. In fact, a lot of them probably had.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.  _ Shit _ .

He knew that post had been a bad idea.

And to make things worse, Simon looked especially cute today. He was wearing his glasses, and his hair was more tousled than usual. He was wearing his usual hoodie and jean jacket combo, but it looked slightly more rumpled than usual. He looked like he hadn't slept much the night before, and at lunch he was unusually quiet. Bram couldn't help but be worried. In Mr. Wise's AP Lit class, Bram had to keep reminding himself that it would be weird if he was turning around every few minutes to look at Simon.

It was torture.

The day dragged on, and finally Bram was getting anything he might need from his locker over the weekend and walking out with Garrett to their cars. Garrett was prattling on about a party that he wanted to have as soon as he could convince his parents to go out of town. Garrett's parents both worked for a large corporation; Bram wasn't exactly sure what corporation, or what their job descriptions were, but he knew that it required business trips to New York or Los Angeles or Hong Kong every month or so. Garrett didn't always have large parties, but he liked having them as often as possible. But sometimes, instead of having a rager, Garrett would invite Nick and some of the other soccer team boys over and they would play video games and eat too much pizza. Bram preferred those weekends to the ragers, but he tried to go to all the parties anyway since Garrett was his best friend.

Bram didn't remember much of the drive home, but when he arrived, he used an app on his phone to order a pizza and settled down in the living room with a book. It was Adam Silvera's  _ More Happy than Not _ , which was purchased in secret with cash, and he could only ever read it when his mom wasn't around, because he wasn't out and he didn't want her questioning him about his extracurricular reading choices.

Not yet. He wasn't ready.

Around 9 pm, Bram's mom texted him.

_ Heading home now, Bram baby. Have you eaten? _

_ Yes _ , he texted back.  _ There's leftover pepperoni in the fridge when you get home. _

_ Thanks! Love you! _

_ Love you too! _

Bram smiled, and used a bookmark to mark his place. He went to his room to put the book in the top drawer of his nightstand and put on sweatpants. Then, he sat down at his desk in his room and opened his laptop.

Without consciously making the decision to check the page, he went to the creeksecrets Tumblr.

And there it was, right at the top. His post.

Bram swallowed, and cleared his throat a little bit. He couldn't help but feel nauseated.

His post had over 30 likes.

At least 30 people had seen his words, read them, and liked them. They related in some way.

It was terrifying.

His hands shaking, Bram clicked to show the notes.

No one had written anything, except . . . someone had. An anonymous account had left . . . an email address?

_ I relate. @anon, you should email me  
_ _ hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com :) _


	3. Guys & Gmails

Bram didn't get to sleep until after two o'clock in the morning, and even then he was restless. He had written the email on a post-it note and put it by his laptop, and it mocked him.

_hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_

Was it even a real email address?

Was it even a real person?

Bram agonized over those questions for hours, and then he agonized about whether to actually send an email. He hadn't come to a decision when he woke up from a fitful sleep Saturday morning, and he still wasn't sure what to do about it after spending the early hours of the afternoon with Garrett and Nick at their neighborhood's community center, shooting hoops in preparation for Creekwood High School's upcoming basketball tryouts. They all played to keep in shape for soccer season in the spring, but all the coaches at Creekwood made you tryout every year on principle.

Bram was a moderately good basketball player, and Garrett and Nick were passable. But Coach Travis was still grateful to have them on the team. Mainly because CHS's basketball team would suck without them. And it still kind of sucked with them.

When Bram finally got back home and took a quick shower to get rid of the sweat and grossness from the workout, he sat down at his laptop to work on his AP Bio project and saw the post-it.

_hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_

Fuuuuck.

Finally, Bram took out a notebook and a pen. Hesitating, he started to write a list.

**Reasons Why I Should/Should Not Contact a Mysterious Gmail Account**

  1. What if it wasn't even a real email address? What if the Tumblr account who had posted the email was just an asshole who wanted to get his hopes up for . . . something?
  2. What if it was a real email address, but it didn't go to a real person? What if the email holder was a robot or a porn bot or something? What if it was a company account for an old person in downtown Brooklyn who would file a complaint through the FBI and get Bram arrested? (Okay, that seemed a little farfetched. Bram scratched out the last bit.)
  3. What if the email account was actually for a real person, but the real person turned out to be a creep? (Bram was sixteen, and there was a certain age group in which the word _pedophile_ came to mind. Bram shuddered.)
  4. What if the email account was actually for a real person, _who actually attended Creekwood High School_? What if it was someone who had somehow found out Bram's identity and decided to prank him by catfishing him? It had probably been done before. Not at CHS, that Bram was aware of, but there was a whole MTV show about it.
  5. What if the email account was actually for a real person who attended CHS, but it was for a lesbian who identified with his post? (Okay, that wouldn't actually be so bad. Bram could use all the friends he could get.)
  6. What if the email account was actually for a real person who attended CHS, and who happened to be a gay guy in his age range who was smart and cute and funny and---



And there was the crux of the problem. Bram could decide not to email this person, and never find out anything about them, or he could take a chance (anonymously) and possibly make a friend or even something more than that.

Bram groaned, his hands coming up to massage his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on and it was all because of this hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com who had just mysteriously decided to appear and make him question all of his life choices up to this point.

That was a little dramatic.

Sighing, Bram pulled up an internet browser and went to his own gmail. He had two different accounts: his school email, abraham.greenfeld@creekwood.edu and his own personal email that he used to link his social media accounts to, bluegreen118@gmail.com.

That was . . . That was fairly anonymous, surely? No one but him and his mom understood the inside joke about "blue," and it only contained part of his last name, and Bram thought Garrett was possibly the only person at school who could connect "118" to Bram's birthday, January 18th. Going into the account settings, Bram edited everything to ensure that a name wouldn't pop up if he sent an email to someone using his bluegreen118 gmail, and then sent an email from that account to his school email just to make sure. It seemed safe.

With shaking hands, he started typing. It took him over an hour to get an acceptable draft that didn't sound weird, somehow, and then he spent another half hour proofreading the text to make sure there were no mistakes. Finally, for good measure, he spent another half hour agonizing over actually pressing the "send" button.

Still staring at the screen as the clock on his bedside table rolled past eight in the evening, Bram groaned and ran his hands through his hair, tugging through the curls and then attempting to fix it in the reflection of his laptop screen. He rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted from writing the email and the additional stress of agonizing about sending it.

Bram blew out a gust of air through pursed lips, squeezed his eyes shut, and finally-- _finally_ \--hit send.

 **FROM** : bluegreen118@gmail.com  
**TO** : hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com  
**DATE** : Aug 23 at 8:12 PM  
**SUBJECT** : I've never done this before

_Dear anonymous person on the internet,_

_I don't really know where to begin. To be honest, I'm not sure this is a real email address, and I'm also not sure you're a real person. But in case you are real, hello! I'm the original poster from the_ creeksecrets _thread about the vast houses and tiny windows and shore worth swimming to. I'm rereading what I wrote there and I honestly can't stop cringing, so I'll start by apologizing for that. I'm not usually such an abuser of similes and metaphors._

_Anyway, I'm not sure how to interpret your comment, but it sounds like you identify with part of what I wrote. Maybe? Even if not, I'm glad you commented. It made me feel less like I was shouting into the void, so thanks for that. And since you left your email address, I assume you're okay with me writing back. Though, I can't believe I'm actually writing you--I really didn't think I would. But it's been a week, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about your comment._

_I guess I'm thinking it could be nice to talk with someone who can relate to how I'm feeling. No pressure, of course, but feel free to write back if you want to. I don't want to use my real name, but you can call me Blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short, but the end felt natural.
> 
> The email at the end is borrowed from the Special Collector's Edition of SVTHSA, and is therefore written by Becky Albertalli and not me. Those emails were the original inspiration for this story, so I wanted to include the very first (canonical) emails for obvious reasons.


End file.
